


Witchling

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Full Shift Werewolves, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: "The Council has grown worried," Stiles told him, tucking the vial back under his sleeve as he spread out his hands, palms up. "They do not like the power you hold, and they do not like that they have no control over you. What they cannot control they often fear, and they have sent me to offer you an ultimatum. Join them, or perish."





	Witchling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HDHale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDHale/gifts).

> This was a little thing that I worked on with HD-Hale based off a gifset he made which can be found [HERE](https://hd-hale.tumblr.com/post/188326898392/witchling-lavenderlotion-the-council-has-grown)! As soon as I saw it I knew I had I write to something for it, and _months_ later I've finally wrapped this up!

Stiles' footsteps thundered in the silence, bare feet slapping against the forest's floor. Nature's magic bent around him, threading with his spark as he raced through the trees. The entire forest was silent save for his harsh breathing, the sound of his feet on the forest’s floor, and the gaining slap of paws racing after him. 

They were getting closer.

Stiles' smile widened.

He leapt over a fallen tree, the grass rising to meet him and softening his fall. Every time his foot touched down the ground became a soft bed of green, dying as soon as his toes kicked back off. He was flying through the woods, his robe billowing behind him and flapping in the wind. Stiles laughed, unable to contain the thrill of the chase. Ducking under a low hanging branch, he slapped his palm against the tree’s trunk, paying it a moment of thanks before it crumbled to the ground and blocked his path.

A sharp howl shook through the trees, laced with so much power that a chill ran down Stiles' spine. Oh, this was going to be the most fun that Stiles had had in  _ ages _ . 

Stiles took a deep breath before leaping into the air and soaring over a small river, the water parting so that he landed on the mossy riverbed. He sprinted through the river, streams of water colliding behind his back as he went. There was another long howl, and Stiles’ lips twisted into a smirk as he threw his arms back, sending the river crashing down onto the wolf in a giant wave. 

Slowing to a jog, Stiles took a moment to survey his surroundings. He had never been in this forest before but it didn’t appear to matter as the trees whispered to him, letting him know he was getting closer and closer to the wolf’s den. Good. Another long howl rang out and he veered left, taking off into a sprint now that the wolf had finally caught up, and racing through the trees until he finally got to where he wanted to be. 

He planted his right foot, twisting his ankle as grass grew up around his calf to support him. The wolf raced towards him, a murky figure in the distance that became clearer the closer he got. Stiles took a deep breath as he tracked the red glow of the Alpha’s eyes, watching as the wolf approached quickly. 

Stiles grinned as he focused on the bright spark of magic in his chest and pushed it outwards.

The wolf hit an invisible barrier and flew backyards, sailing through the air before slamming into a tree. Stiles heard the pained whimper he let out as he slid down the trees rough bark, lying still against the forest’s floor.

Taking a half step forward, Stiles let the barrier drop, his magic slinking along the ground to investigate. Suddenly the wolf moved, a single pay jolting forward and clawing at the dirt. Stiles watched, fascinated, as the paw shifted, claws expanding into tanned fingers that gripped fistfuls of loose dirt and dead grass. 

The transformation was  _ violent, _ and Stiles looked on in sympathy as the wolf shed its skin to leave behind a man, shivering as limbs slowly formed. He said nothing as the Alpha donned his human skin roughly, wincing as the man rose to his full height, one last full-body twitch running through him before he planted his feet and looked up. 

An attractive man stood tall before him, his wide shoulders heaving. Stiles let his eyes track over the man’s rather impressive frame, his lips curling into a smile at what he saw. Oh yes, this was going to be  _ very  _ fun. The Alpha took a step forward, his eyes glowing a deep, bloody red. When he spoke, his voice echoed around the clearing with his power, and Stiles shivered. 

“You are on Hale Territory, Witchling.”

Stiles laughed, throwing his head back in a move meant to distract from where his hand was sliding towards the holster on his thigh. His fingers closed around a glass vial he kept tucked there and slipped it up into his sleeve with practised ease, and he lowered his head to once again make eye contact. “There aren't much left of the Hales, are there, wolf?”

The growl his taunt earned him made his heart thump faster in excitement. 

“Who are you?” The wolf’s voice was smooth, sliding across the space between them like a physical thing. Stiles wanted to reach out and touch the power behind the words. 

“I am a messenger,” Stiles told him easily, a smile flirting his lips. The man growled and stepped forward, but Stiles tutted as he let the glass jar slip back into his hand. He uncorked it easily, his spark latching onto the milled powder as it spilled out onto the forest floor. “Careful, wolf.”

The black powder slid across the grass to form a perfect circle that trapped the man. Hale growled loudly, the noise so powerful Stiles could nearly feel it shake through him. Straightening, Stiles set his shoulders back and smirked, tightening the ring of mountain ash until the growl tapered out into nothing. 

“What are you doing here?” The wolf asked him shortly. Stiles could feel the anger that was rolling off him and felt how the forest was bending to his will, competing with the gentle rhythm of Stiles’ own spark bleeding into the trees. 

“The Council has grown worried,” Stiles told him, tucking the vial back under his sleeve as he spread out his hands, palms up. “They do not like the power you hold, and they do not like that they have no control over you. What they cannot control they often fear, and they have sent me to offer you an ultimatum. Join them, or perish.”

“I very much doubt that is what the Council has sent you to say.”

“Maybe not,” Stiles allowed with a slight nod of his head, looking at the man before him from under his lashes. He let his eyes bleed white, lighting up with the magic under his skin. “But I do very much doubt you would have listened had I delayed their message.”

“What is it you want, witchling?” Hale asked him on a growl. Stiles shivered pleasantly, enjoying the wolf’s palpable power and the way Stiles could  _ taste _ his strength. 

“The Council feared my Mother much the way they fear you. Do you know what the Council does to those they fear?” Stiles asked, his lips twisting into a smile he knew was cruel. After all, villages didn’t just burn down, not when they were under the protection of an Alpha as powerful as Talia Hale had been. 

The wolf inclined his head, though he didn’t say anything further. Stiles let the vial in his sleeve slip back to his hand and called the ash back into it. It wouldn’t do to keep him trapped, if Stiles wanted him amenable to what he was going to suggest. 

“They get rid of them,” Stiles said plainly, an answer to his own question. He capped the bottle once it was full, tucking it back into its slot on his thigh.

The wolf was silent for a moment more. He stared at Stiles assessingly, and he felt as though he could feel the wolf's gaze under his skin. When he spoke, there was a note of resignation in his voice that made Stiles' stomach twist. “So, are you here to get rid of me?”

“Perhaps. It depends on what you do.” Hale barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. Stiles gave himself a moment to take in hard lines of Alpha's body with interest, before he sobered. “You have lost much at the hands of the Council. They have taken more lives than their allowance. We both know they are nothing but rot,” Stiles said candidly, speaking words he had only ever thought privately. He felt confident that Hale would agree with him, and it made it easier to let the words slip out. 

“You speak very poorly of a Council you claim to serve, witchling.” Hale’s brow was raised and his mouth was twisted up in an obvious show of amusement. It was rather attractive, with the way it eased some of the tenseness from his face. 

“The Council has caused me nothing but grief. I hold no kindness towards them,” Stiles spat, his hands curling into fists as his heart rate spiked. Hale raised a brow but said nothing. “I am offering you a chance, Wolf.”

Silence rang out through the clearing, heavy in the open field. For a beat of time that felt as though it lasted an entirety, there was not a single sound in the still air around them. 

“Revenge.” Hale took a step forward, and then another when Stiles didn’t react. “You are offering me revenge.”

“Yes,” Stiles snapped, taking a deep breath in a desperate attempt at regaining some control over himself. Maybe this wasn’t as good an idea as Stiles had thought. Maybe Hale  _ wasn’t _ what he needed. 

“And why?” Hale asked. Another step, and the space between them was nearly gone. Stiles would not back down, not after he had travelled all this way. Not when he was risking so much. “Why me?”

Stiles took a deep breath and considered his words before he spoke. “Word travels, and it does so quickly. I have heard tales of a wolf, an Alpha, who slaughters Hunters as though it is his right. One who brings peace where there is none, and watches after those who cannot watch after themselves.”

“Tales of the foolish, I am sure,” Hale said, but there a note to his voice that hadn’t been there before. Stiles smirked, a low, teasing tilt to his lips that Hale seemed to watch. 

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Stiles said softly, taking the last step between. Hale’s forearm was warm under his fingers, almost burning, and Stiles could feel the power under his skin and the way it was threading through the air between them. “Are you going to help me?”

Another beat of silence, and then, “Yes.”

Stiles smiled, his shoulders slumping with relief that was foreign to him. For the first time in  _ decades, _ the weight that had sat heavily upon his shoulders was lessened. He could not trust Hale, not yet, but the wolf was powerful enough that Stiles knew his word was worth something. Stiles was close enough now that when he breathed in, he got a strong hit of pleasant musk. He could only imagine what he must have smelled like himself, though by the way Hale’s nostrils were flaring, it must not have been bad. 

Hale took a sudden step back and held out his hand in a sweeping gesture. It was rather dramatic, made more so by his lack of clothing. “After you, Witchling,” he said cordially. Now that he wasn’t speaking in anger, Stiles found he had a rather nice sound to his voice. 

Despite the curl of arousal caused by the purr of Hale’s words, Stiles hesitated at letting the wolf at his back. Stiles had been truthful when he said that tales travelled, and the tales of Alpha Hale were rather gruesome. As fun as their chase had been, Stiles did not feel like fighting off a powerful, Alpha wolf—one who would have every right to go after Stiles as his territory had been invaded by a threat. 

If Hale had been serious about helping Stiles go after the Council, they would need to trust one another. It couldn’t hurt to start now. 

“You can call me Stiles,” he offered, tipping his head towards the wolf with a smile and keeping his eyes above his waist respectfully. Well, mostly above the waist. The man  _ was _ standing there unclothed, what was Stiles expected to do?

He moved forward, walking in the direction Hale had gestured towards with a slow, easy gait. If the wolf wanted him to move faster, Stiles was sure he would say something. 

“Peter, then,” Hale offered from behind him, closer than Stiles had been expecting. He didn’t startle but rather kept walking slowly, letting himself take in the essence of the forest now that he wasn’t running for his life. 

The forest broke into a beautiful clearing, alive with magic so ancient that it made Stiles shiver. He dropped to a knee in a bow without a thought of doing so, laying his forehead against the grassy floor and whispering his respect to a power as great as the one wrapping around him. There was a tree near the end of the clearing that Stiles could feel  _ thrumming _ with magic, and he sent a tendril of spark towards it, allowing the being to absorb his magic.

“I had no idea there was a Nemeton in these woods,” Stiles said quietly, a note of awe in his voice. He had never been in the presence of one but his mother had told him tales; Nemeton's were beings from before dawn. They had existed before the first light, and they would exist long after the last.

They were  _ sacred. _ Being's of a magic that was far more than a mere mortal could ever truly hope to grasp in its entirety. To know that the Council had taken from this being its protector was...incomprehensible.

The danger that could befall them all should one with intentions less than pure get at it was something Stiles did not dare to consider.

“ I am so sorry for your loss,” he whispered as his eyes began to sting and his chest began to ache with a pain that was not his own. He gasped as the Nemeton pressed their sorrow into his skin and made it his own, filling him with a magic that was not like anything else he had ever come across.

“ Witchling?” Hales’ voice was distant, the concern in his tone barely filtering through the overwhelming grief that Stiles was trying to parse through. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He still felt the loss of his mother sharply. Every time he used his magic, every time his spark so much as flickered within his chest, he felt her loss. But the pain that the Nemeton was giving him was unlike any he had ever known. His eyes stung and the pressure in his chest got so sharp that he could no longer breathe through it, his forehead still bowed to the earth as he did his best to take in everything this great being was giving to him.

Thankfully, the pain soon ebbed. He took a gasping breath that scarcely filled his lungs and he had to take another and another, gasping air uselessly as he tried to fulfill the burning in his chest. He was moved by strong, steady hands, and pulled into a warm chest. The heat radiating off the wolf was a strong comfort for how cold he suddenly felt, filled with the phantom aches of a lost pack he had never known.

By the time that he was able to breathe without a struggle, Peter—who he now felt unable to call Hale, with the pain of his packs death in his heart—was running one of his large hands up and down Stiles' arm, cradling him close to his chest like one would a child. He found no offence in the action and instead was given immeasurable comfort by being cradled in such a way. 

When he thought of it, Stiles had not been given a hug in many years. He let himself relax into the hold, trusting Peter with a ferocity that was not his. The Nemeton was still present in the back of his mind and with their influence Stiles allowed Peter to comfort him. He was not Stiles’ Alpha, not Stiles’  _ anything, _ but it was hard to remember that they were naught but strangers when he felt so strongly of an affection that did not belong to him. 

Taking a shuddering breath, Stiles allowed for a few minutes of weakness, enjoying the hold he was in and allowing it to stretch on past what was possibly wise. The Nemeton had left more than just memories of grief. When Stiles filtered through what the being left within his mind, there were feelings that were more recent, and all those reflected Peter.

The Nemeton held the Alpha in deep regard, and it was simple to figure why. Hale had been protecting the Nemeton with a ferocity that was unrivalled ever since his pack was burned by the Council. The Nemeton was not only thankful for the protection, but awed that Peter had managed to overcome his own all-encompassing grief enough to protect them. 

And Stiles found himself agreeing with the Nemeton. There were days, fewer now but once often, when Stiles had not wanted to awaken. Night after night he had gone to bed and hoped for a creature to end his suffering. But each morning he woke up, and he worked slowly, so very slowly, towards the Council, until one morning he woke up and it did feel as though the weight of the entire world was sitting upon his chest and restricting his lungs. 

Peter had gone on as well. He had lost his family, his  _ pack, _ and he had continued the Hale legacy and kept the Nemeton safe from all who wished them harm. Stiles felt as though there was no one he would rather join with in his plight against the Council. Sighing, he allowed himself another moment to soak in the warmth of Peter’s hold. 

“You are still nude,” Stiles said eventually, breaking apart the tension caused by his distress but still making no effort to sit himself up. He found himself rather pressed to move. 

Peter laughed, the noise rumbling through his chest and into Stiles' ear. He too did not move nor did he look down like he may have wanted to. “I do not hear you complaining about my state of dress, Witchling.”

The wolf's voice was  _ teasing, _ and Stiles felt something stir low in his belly. It had been many years since he had shared a night with another, years longer than that since the last time he had done so simply for his own pleasure. 

“I will admit I am not adverse to you like this,” Stiles told him steadily. “The Nemeton has shared with me much, and a great deal of what I have seen has been about you.”

“All good things, I would hope,” Peter said with a laugh, angling his head down. Stiles met his eyes, a deep, endless red that meant  _ power, _ and knew there really was no other that could assist him better. 

With a breath that left him feeling whole, he put as much certainty into his words while he said, “Only the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> no promises about a continuation, but it's very open-ended for a reason! we'll see if anything comes of it!
> 
> comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)!


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